


Fear Is in the Eye of the Beholder

by shadow_lover



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Other, Trapped in the Fade, Voyeurism, crackfic, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 05:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17380304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: Hawke has a fear kink. And a wolf kink?





	Fear Is in the Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monday_shoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monday_shoes/gifts).



> hi monday_shoes, i loved your requests, please like this fic

Hawke sank gasping against a giant boulder. It was a giant boulder in the fade so it was greenish and very offputting in appearance, but since everything was very offputting, it seems as good a place as any to collapse in exhaustion. He tilted his head back-- any spirits nearby would have a great look at his chiseled jawline-- to watch the fear demon twitch out its last.

"Pretty badass fight," he congratulated himself. He imagined all his friends agreeing, and then was sad that he was alone.

And then kind of glad he was alone, because he was hard as a fucking rock. Man, nothing got him off like a good dose of mortal terror.

And then a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision. And he was suddenly afraid he was not alone after all.

***

Minutes pass. Days. Seconds. Weeks. Time isn't real, here. He wanders and wanders and always ends up back in the same place, but it's different every time. 

Always, the shadows are watching.

***

Seriously, this watching stalker thing is getting super annoying.

***

Well. He's got nothing better to do. May as well give the shadows a show.

***

Orgasming is weird in the fade. Hawke's slumped against the rock, trousers down around one ankle, thighs flexing in ecstasy. His arm never gets tired, here, and every movement is slicker, slipperier. Kind of foreign, like it's not completely his own hand sliding up and down his shaft, not his own knuckles brushing the sensitive inside of his thigh. Like dream sex or drunk sex but way, way better.

It's so engrossing he doesn't notice the shadow's approach until it looms over him, all slavering jaws and dark fur and piercing eyes, and it snarls, "You dare profane this place,"

and the vibration of that sexy offended voice is so good it sends Hawke over the edge again. He gasps, arching up in pleasure, and then collapses back. "Hey there, handsome," he purrs. "Enjoy the show?"

Disapproval radiates from the wolf. It growls, "The memory of your depravity will echo through every dreamer who comes here, every scholar who wishes to learn of the past."

"I always wanted to be remembered," Hawke laughs. This isn't real. Nothing is real. But the wolf-- he breathes in the rich musk. The wolf is like him. The wolf is of this place, and yet not. Hawke catches his breath, and leans up. "Don't you want to be remembered too?"

He rocks up into his hand again. Feels the wolf's attention on him like clawmarks.

"You would be wise to fear me," the wolf says.

"Nobody ever accused me of being wise," Hawke says. He hooks his leg around the wolf's weird wolfy hip. "Come on, make a little history with me."

The wolf seems to hesitate, then leans in, hot dangerous breath in his ear. "Not here," it growls. "Not now."

***

Without warning, Hawke's thrust into sunlight, fresh air, and a horrified crowd of trainee wardens. "Don't mind the blood!" he says cheerfully, before realizing that actually they're probably more concerned about his utter pantslessness and raging erection.

The trainees scatter. One of them, white as a sheet, shouts, "I'll tell the commander a sex maniac fell out of the fade!"

Hawke stretches out, savoring the sunlight, and does his best to pull up the remainder of his trousers. Well, that was an adventure.

And something tells him this isn't the last he'll seen of the wolf. Call it intuition, call it street smarts, call it the very audible growl in his ear:

"This isn't the last you've seen of me."


End file.
